


Snuffed

by RRHood



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forests, Metaphors, Poetry, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRHood/pseuds/RRHood





	

A fire inside, keeping the wolves warm,

Snow resting upon the wood sill.

So early in winter, the flakes have no form

And the uncaring sky is too still.

Towering trees do not tremble or quake,

Do not beckon me onto the path

I fear to stay here would prove a mistake,

But I do not know which way lies wrath.

I assume from the quiet the forest is calm;

There is so much danger, in sound.

So I steel myself with misguided aplomb

And press one foot into the ground.

The damp soil gives, as though it is plush,

Sodden by snow left to melt.

A breeze picks up, and I feel it brush -

The warmest wind I've ever felt.

Despite the dreary winter-to-be,

My intrigue becomes deeply seeded.

Perhaps I have suffered from monotony,

But this feeling of promise is needed.

I walk into woods with both eyes alive;

They flicker to things I don't see.

Not pleasure nor knowledge, do I derive,

Merely perplexity.

It bores to my skull, the farther I walk,

Like a niggling I'm loathe to forget,

And while it's unknown, I have yet to balk,

For it has not hurt me, yet.

It twists and it dips, grows over and winds

Through thickets of pale, graying green.

The deeper I travel, the tighter it binds;

All 'round me it chose to convene.

I am the center that's being consumed

By an entity that knows my pain.

Indifferently, the wood has assumed

And proved to be callous and vain.

The forest keeps me until it tires

It denies me my way home,

But I may stay ‘till all expires

Since it hasn’t hurt me, I roam.

Alike to discovery, I stumble on trails

And think each one leads somewhere new.

The whispers that guide me tell similar tales,

When abruptly the path splits in two.

This story reminds me of what I have fled;

At the memory, my heartbeat pounds.

I turn to the forest’s earth-cage instead

Because it is better than hounds.

I barely remember my life from before,

Only that I have been hurt.

I feel and I am nothing, anymore,

Just a fixture among leaves and dirt.

The forest never strikes me or claws,

Although the winter can bite.

It will not hurt me, when I pause,

And cry until day’s morning light.

The woods don’t attack, the woods will not harm,

I have not been crushed or rebuffed.

I’ll be here until I’ve lost my charm

And the fire inside has been snuffed.

 


End file.
